Up the stairs by a milliner’s shop, past the third story, to the fourth, we climbed. A wing ran back, with a gallery that opened on one side. At the rear was a short flight of steps, with a scuttle at the top, which opened out on the roof. By good fortune, this was unlocked, and we climbed through, out on the flat roof, into the maze of chimneys. Tom was a little ahead and reached the parapet on the side of Number 9, while we were still at the scuttle. As he turned to the edge, he wheeled and beckoned to us expressively. We hurried forward. Below, on the fourth story, three shuttered windows faced us. In the centre one, the wind had blown half the blind open. Behind it, we gazed on a solid wooden panel, which filled the window from top to bottom, from side to side, behind the glass.
“An exact duplicate of the window panels of Heidenmuller’s wooden room,” I whispered. Tom and Dorothy nodded silently.
CHAPTER XVI
Quietly we drew back from the parapet and, closing the scuttle behind us, started down the narrow stairs. At their base, Dorothy stopped suddenly. As Tom came up, he noticed her delay and paused with his hand on the latch. “What is it, girl?” he asked, almost tenderly.
“You think we ought to go on, do you?” asked Dorothy hesitatingly.
“Of course we’re going on,” said Tom. “There’s no question about it. That’s what we’re here for. What’s the matter, anyway?”
“Frankly, I don’t know,” said Dorothy slowly. “If we come through this all right, I’ll try never to say a word again, but somehow,—somehow—” She broke off without finishing.
“Cheer up, old girl,” comforted Tom, putting his arm about her waist. “What should we do without your valiant spirit?”